


bad poetry

by Thalius



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: AU where din goes back to sorgan and everything is soft, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Mandothon2020, Post-Canon, Prompt Fill, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:01:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23601238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thalius/pseuds/Thalius
Summary: It's a good day for a nap.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Omera
Comments: 16
Kudos: 137
Collections: The Mandalorian Ficathon — April 2020





	bad poetry

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gen prompt fill for Day 7 ("Sleepy; Recovery") of the #Mandothon2020 event on tumblr, which you can find here. This is absolutely pointless post-canon fluff with no plot. please enjoy!

It was rare that she couldn’t spot Din, regardless of where she was in the village. The deep maroon colour of his garb made him easy to  spot even amongst a throng of villagers, and the plains were so flat that he stood out like a smudge of blood on the horizon. She knew he wasn’t in the forest, either, because he made sure to tell her whenever he went hunting.

Opting to not panic for the time being, Omera walked the edge of the tree line around the ponds. It was deep enough into the evening that the sun hung below the tops of the pines, casting the sky in orange and giving them a much-needed reprieve from the summer heat. It was a perfect time to sit outside and share a meal—which was the entire reason for seeking him out in the first place. Din still treated eating dinner with her in the grass with the gravity of a child sneaking an extra biscuit before bed, and his delight was always infectious.

Just as she was about to begin calling his name in a semi-frantic tone of voice, she spotted a disruption in the soft sway of the plain grass. Approaching carefully—it could very well be an animal attempting to sneak to the ponds of a snack—she let out a small laugh when she saw what was laying there.

He’d fallen asleep on his back, hands folded loosely over his stomach, and a thick pamphlet rested face-down on his chest. He’d pulled his hood down enough to cover his eyes, but his lips were parted slightly, his breath whistling out in soft, slow exhales. Even sleeping, he still managed to look polite and reserved, though the tension of his usual careful caution was thankfully absent from the line of his shoulders. He’d gotten better at relaxing, but it was still very much a work in progress.

Carefully, Omera crawled down next to him and settled in the grass. It was a wonderful spot; the earth was cool on her back without being overly damp, and the tall grass provided a soft ambient murmur that was soothing to listen to. She would make him check himself for ticks when they got back to the hut, but for now she was content with lying beside him.

Shifting onto her side, she looped an arm around his bicep and pressed her mouth to his ear. “Din,” she murmured softly, knowing how easy it was to startle him awake. “You’re missing supper.”

She’d learned the hard way to wake him gently; a lifetime of reacting to sudden, unexpected threats made him a light and jumpy sleeper. He was always apologetic and usually made up for any combative behaviour with an excessive amount of kisses afterwards, but she figured she could still get those without having to dodge a punch first.

“Din,” she whispered against the shell of his ear, squeezing his bicep. “Wake up.” 

His breathing changed; he inhaled deeply, and a moment later she felt him tense and shift. His free hand reached up and pushed back his hood, and she watched his long lashes flicker as he blinked awake. 

She smiled and waited patiently as he figured out where he was, and quickly relaxed when he found the evening sky above him. With a groan he arched his back and stretched in the grass, and she listened to a few of his joints pop. It reminded her to ask him how his knee was doing once he was properly awake.

With another slow exhale, he turned his head to look at her. She was close enough that it was easy to kiss him, and she indulged in a quick peck before pulling back and smiling at him.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice hoarse from sleep.

“Good evening,” she replied with amusement, and his brows furrowed. He looked back up at the sky as if to confirm her words, and then let out a huff of breath.

“Sorry,” he said, and felt up to his chest for the pamphlet. “I was reading.”

“What is that?” she asked. He unhooked her arm from his to wrap around her shoulders, and she settled eagerly into his side, her head coming to rest on his chest.

“Winta picked it up for me in town last time she went,” he replied, and flipped it over to read the cover.  _ “Tales From the Rift. _ It’s poetry, mostly.”

“Is it any good?”

She felt him shrug before setting down in the grass beside him. “I’ve read worse.”

Omera laughed into his chest and shifted closer, throwing a leg over one of his. His clothes had soaked up residual heat from the setting sun, but he didn’t complain about the contact. “Well, I’m glad you picked the evening to take an outdoor nap. I’d rather not nurse you through another sunburn.”

He groaned at that. “I don’t know how you deal with them. They’re horrible.”

“Lifetime of practice.” The collar of his shirt was pulled down low enough that she could easily place a kiss on his collarbone, and felt his chest humm with contentment when she did.

“Where are they?” he asked, his fingers playing with the tie of her apron around her waist.

“Winta has your boy in the longhouse for dinner,” she replied, catching his meaning, and closed her eyes as she listened to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. Her hand settled by her head, and she felt his mythosaur necklace underneath her palm. “It’s why I came out to find you.”

“Mm, good. I’m hungry.”

“We can eat out here, if you like,” she offered, knowing how uncomfortable he still was with eating in front of a crowd. “And you can read me some of those poems,” she added, smiling.

“Some of them are pretty bad,” he replied, and she heard the amusement in his voice. “There’s not even an author listed in the book.”

“Lucky for me, then. I love bad poetry.”

His chest rumbled with faint laughter before he let out a sigh, and then they fell quiet. She hadn’t realised how tired she was until she laid down beside him; now it was all she could do to stay awake, and Omera realised that maybe she didn’t even have to do that. Not when the grass rustled around them and the sky was painted a deep honey. And despite his assertion of being hungry, Din seemed in no rush to get up, either.

When she heard his breathing begin to even out again, she smiled and decided that dinner could wait for a while.


End file.
